Happy Birthday Jack
by jes004
Summary: Complete. Sydney wins a writing contest and Jack has an interesting encounter on a mission. Reviews are welcome
1. Chapter 1 The Invitation

Title:  Happy Birthday, Jack

Author:  Janice  aka jes004

Rating:  R. 

Disclaimers:  The Bristow family and Arvin Sloane all belong to JJ and Company.  All the rest are figments of my imagination.  

Acknowledgement:  The paragraph attributed to Sydney (you'll know when you get there) was written by Blackdawn.

This is my entry into the J/I challenge, sponsored by Blackdawn.  The challenge requirements are found in the SD1 J/I section.  Topic #20858. For some reason, the URL won't show when I upload this to Fanfiction.net.

……………………………………………..

Part 1 – Los Angeles … The Invitation

The shrill ring of the telephone broke Sydney's concentration. Placing her book on her lap, she grabbed the phone off the bedside table.  She froze as she heard her father answer from another extension.

"Mr. Bristow?" Sydney recognized the voice immediately and her heart sank.  "I'm Angela Devon.  Sydney is in my Freshman English class."

"What can I do for you, Ms. Devon?" Jack interrupted tersely. "I don't mean to be rude, but I just arrived home after a long flight from Tokyo and I'm tired." He opened the pantry and pulled out a bottle of scotch, before removing a clean tumbler from one of the cabinets.   

"I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Bristow, but the principal asked me to call.  He says you haven't responded to the RSVP that was sent last month.  We are finalizing the arrangements and she was certain you would want to be present for Sydney's award."

The bottle slipped from Jack's hand and landed heavily on the counter.  "Sydney's award?"

"She didn't tell you?  The short story she submitted won first place in Governors Education Stars contest. It's a very prestigious award.  I'm surprised she hasn't mentioned it?"

"I've been out of the country. As I said, I just arrived from Tokyo." Jack told her. He opened the bottle of whiskey and filled the glass halfway.

"Our school was selected to host the awards banquet and ball.  You should have received an invitation in the mail several weeks ago?"

"I haven't seen it.  When is it?"

"Next Friday. March 24th.  May I tell the principal you will be attending?"

"Yes, we'll be there.  I'm sure Sydney will know the details?"

"Absolutely.  By the way, it's formal, black tie and evening dress. We gave her the information a couple of weeks ago."

"I appreciate your call Ms. Devon.   Thank you."

Jack placed the phone back in the cradle and took a healthy swig from the glass before heading to his study. Once there, he opened a side drawer in the desk and pulled out a small silver edged frame. It held a picture of him carrying Sydney piggy back around his neck. She had been a cheerful and loving five-year-old. They had been so close then.  He shrugged his shoulders, trying to ease their perpetual tension.  Taking another swallow of scotch, he contemplated his relationship with his daughter.  

Her mother's death eight years earlier had been a catalyst for both of them.  The one time she needed him most, he'd failed her.  Instead of helping her through the grief of losing a parent, he'd wallowed in the mire of his own self-pity. As each year passed, they grew further apart and he didn't know how to stop the cycle.  Several times, he'd tried making overtures, but every gesture was rebuffed.   And now, at fourteen, he feared it was too late.  

It hurt that she hadn't told him of the award or the ceremony.  He had no doubt that she'd intercepted the invitation.  Sighing, he replaced the frame to its hiding place and downed the remaining scotch.

……………………………………………..

Sydney quietly placed the phone in its cradle.  Relaxing against the headboard, she resumed her reading, waiting for her father to find her. Several minutes went by and she wondered if he even cared.

"Sydney?" He stood in the bedroom doorway, face impassive.  She pretended not to hear him.  "Put the book down."

She sighed loudly, but did as he asked. "Is this going to take very long? I have to finish this book before my English test tomorrow." 

"That would be Ms. Devon?"  

"Um, yeah." Too late, Sydney realized she'd given him an easy opening into the telephone conversation.  "H..how did you know?"

"She called.  She wanted to know why I hadn't responded to the invitation Governors Education Stars award banquet."

"Oh, that." She shrugged and picked up the book.  

"Why didn't you tell me about it, Sydney?"

"Because I'm not going." She stared at her book, not daring to look up. When he didn't respond, she risked a quick glance.  He was staring past her, his eyes focused on a spot just to the left of the bed.  She knew without looking what his eyes were seeing.  He had given her the photograph the day after her mother died. She remembered vividly the day it had been taken. They celebrated her sixth birthday the night before.  Her parents had given her a shiny new swing set.  The next morning, her father assembled the unit while her mother supervised.

_"Jack, are you sure these swings are secure?" Laura's eyes twinkled as she teased her husband.  "They don't look very strong. Maybe I should test it out first?"_

_Jack removed the bit and placed the drill in his tool chest. "It will hold the weight of a six year old. Sydney, are you ready to swing?" _

_"Oh, yes please, Daddy!" The little jumped up and down excitedly._

_"Let me get the camera." He walked over to the glass-topped table and picked up the Nikon Laura had given him for his birthday a month earlier.  When he turned, Laura was sitting on the swing, holding Sydney securely in her lap.  He adjusted the focus and lightly squeezed the trigger.  He took several more shots before laying the camera down and joining them by the swing._

_"Do you want Daddy to push you on the swing, sweetheart?"_

_Sydney squealed in delight.  "Put me down, Mommy, so Daddy can swing me."  Laura kissed her daughter's forehead, then released her._

_"Don't push her too high, Jack," Laura told him anxiously._

"Don't worry, honey.  Keeping her safe is my sworn duty as a father." 

"I don't know why you care," she said, breaking the silence. "You'll probably have to go sell airplane parts somewhere, anyway."  He stared at her, his face a stone mask.

"I told Ms. Devon we will be attending.  She said you had the information?" She nodded reluctantly. "You can give it to me in the morning."  

He left her then.  Anger overwhelmed her. She took a deep breath, trying to get her emotions under control.  _I told Ms. Devon we will be attending._ Who did he think he was?  Her father?  She swallowed back her tears.  She had been so excited when she learned her short story had won first place.  All day, she'd wanted to rush home and tell him; to prove to him that she was worthy of his love. When she got home, Mrs. Andrews, her off and on nanny, told her he had left that afternoon on a business trip.  He came home a week later, but by then the excitement was gone.  

She picked up the photo of her mother and wondered for the thousandth time how different her life would have been had she lived.

……………………………………………..

Jack went back to his study and poured himself another drink.  He tipped the glass against the bottle and made a toast.  "Happy birthday, Jack Bristow. You really screwed that one up." He finished the drink in two swift swallows and started to put the bottle back.  He looked at it for a long moment, then shrugged.  "What the hell.  It's my birthday.  Someone ought to at least celebrate it. 

He took the bottle and the glass and carried them up to his room. Once there, he pulled off his jacket and threw it on the bed.  Pulling off his tie, he headed for the bathroom.  He started to throw the tie on the winged back chair when he noticed a brightly wrapped box and card on the seat.

He opened the card first.  It was a generic 'with love to Dad on your birthday' greeting, but he treasured the handwritten part that simply said 'love, Sydney'.  The box was inexpertly wrapped, telling him that his daughter had done the work herself.  A hard lump formed in his throat.  Carefully, he removed the paper from the box.  Every year since she was two, Sydney had purchased a shirt and tie for his birthday.  Every year, he would proudly wear her gift to work the next day. 

This year, the shirt was a shimmering dark green, with a green and burgundy striped tie.  It was a more conservative choice than she'd shown in past years.  He felt a pang of disappointment.  Sydney's previous concoctions always drew attention at the office and he loved explaining that his attire was a birthday gift from his daughter.  

He lifted the shirt from the box and gave a startled laugh. Fully revealed, he now saw that the shirt changed from green to burgundy depending on the viewing angle.  "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered softly.  

……………………………………………..

When Jack came down for breakfast the next morning, Sydney was already in the kitchen.  His eyes widened as he realized she was preparing him breakfast. 

"You weren't here last night in time for dinner, so I thought I'd make your breakfast for your birthday."  

"Thank you for the shirt and tie, Sydney."  She gave him a mute nod and turned back to the stove.  

She scooped the scrambled eggs onto his plate, along with a helping of potatoes and bacon and handed it to him.  He felt a warm glow in the pit of his stomach.  "Thanks, honey." His voice was rough with emotion and he had to swallow several times to keep the tears at bay.

"I put the information about the banquet on your desk."

"I'd like to read the story you wrote."

 She stood silently by the stove.   

"Sydney?" he prompted.

"I have a copy in my room.  I'll get it for you before I leave."

He nodded.  They ate breakfast together and for that Jack was thankful.  

……………………………………………..

The Jennings Aerospace building was a hub of activity when he arrived at the office.  Normally, he would arrive too early to witness the early morning rush to work.  He could see the surprise in the eyes of those who dared to greet him.  Those who noticed his shirt and tie remembered to wish him a happy belated birthday.  He nodded in response.

When he reached his office, his secretary was waiting by his desk. Eleanor Herndon was a petite blonde, whose organizational skills were unmatched.  Her vivacious personality made her popular among her co-workers, who often wondered why she would choose to stay with such a dour boss. 

"Good morning, Jack.  Jane told me you were on your way up. I put the Gandero files on your desk. The coffee will be ready in about five minutes."  

"Thanks, Eleanor." He opened his briefcase and handed her several files.  "These are from my meeting with Onda. Sloane will want a copy of the meeting notes. The rest just needs to be filed."

"I see Sydney's taste in clothing is improving.  I really like that combination." She patted him affectionately on the shoulder. "You really should have taken today off, Jack," she scolded him. "Birthday's are supposed to be special days celebrated with your family."

"Thanks, but my birthday was yesterday."

"And you were on an airplane until very late.  I'm sure Sydney was disappointed."

"She made breakfast for me this morning." 

"Well, good. That sounds promising. This ought to help, too." She handed him a card.  "Happy birthday."

He opened the card and saw two tickets for a popular dinner theater. 

"You're welcome," she teased. "Take Sydney with you. She'll be the envy of all her friends."

"Thank you, Eleanor…you didn't have to"

"No, I didn't," she interrupted.  "But I wanted to.  You are the best boss I've ever had and this is my way of saying thank you." 

"Don't let the other secretaries hear you say that." He gave her one of his rare smiles.  "They'll think you are crazy and try to get you committed."

"Pfut to them.  I know better.  The tickets were my husbands' idea. He thinks you work too hard.  Anyway, we went last month and the kids loved it.  Even our Jenny and she's Sydney's age."

The phone on Jack's desk buzzed.  "Bristow."

"Jack, we need you at the bank. Can you be here at ten?" Arvin Sloane's words were couched as a request, but both Jack and Eleanor knew that he was just given a command.

Jack looked at his calendar and grimaced. There were twenty cases he needed to complete by the following Friday. The Gandero operation had to be in before Monday.  "Ten is fine, Arvin."

Eleanor saw his look.  "It's almost done, Jack.  Why don't you look the file over and I can make any changes while you are at your meeting."

He nodded and pulled out the file.  An hour and a half later, Eleanor popped her head in to tell him Sloane had sent a car for him.  He looked up in surprise.

"For your birthday, he said."  She shook her in disgust.  "Why couldn't he just give you the day off?"

He snorted in response, as he handed her the files.  "Thanks, Eleanor. You are a treasure." Hesitating, he pulled Sydney's story out of his briefcase.  "Could you make me a copy of this before I go?  I'll take the copy with me and you can leave the original on my desk."

On the ride over, he began reading his daughters' story. By the time he finished, his eyes were misting over, a mixture of pride and the emotional impact of her words. The story was surprisingly mature and he recognized within it elements of Laura's writing style.  They had an underlying element of sadness to it, which had been a recurring undertone in Laura's compositions, as well.  He hadn't understood that sadness at the time.  

Now, of course, he was no longer under the illusion of a happy marriage and saw her sadness for what it was. Trapped in a marriage arranged by her superiors and saddled with his child, it was no wonder she was unhappy.  He felt the bile rising from his stomach and opened the window for fresh air.  He pushed the thoughts of Laura away.   

The meeting was short, for which he was thankful.  He was heading for the door, when Arvin called him into his office.  

"Justin just called from France.  The agent he sent in to retrieve the data box is dead.  I'm sending you to complete the operation tomorrow."

"Arvin, I just got back from Tokyo.  Can't you send someone else?  
  


"Jack, the information contained in that box is vital to our continued existence as a viable corporation. You know that operation better than anyone I have. Hell, you wrote the protocol."

"I am sure you have many capable agents…"

"Very well, you can leave on Monday.  It should only take you a day or two.  You'll be back by Wednesday."

Sighing, he nodded.  "I want you to know that if I can't get to it by Wednesday, I'll have to come back and work out another protocol."

"Fair enough.  Oh, and happy birthday. Sydney's taste is improving."

"You're the second one to tell me that today.  I'll be sure to tell my daughter her selection was a hit this year."

"Do that."  Sloane gave him a dismissive nod.

……………………………………………..

He rode back to his office, thinking about the man Arvin Sloane had become. They had been good friends since his days with the CIA and his only friend in those first horrifying years after Laura's death.  He thought he knew Arvin better than anyone except his wife, Emily. Now he wasn't so sure.  Something had changed in him and that change had affected their friendship.  

He had been serious about being back by Wednesday.  This time, he wouldn't allow his work or Arvin Sloane to interfere with his family life. The data box was important to Sloane, not to him.  If they missed it this time, there would be other opportunities to retrieve it. Sydney's banquet was far more important.  

The teacher had mentioned the occasion was formal and he was fairly certain his daughter didn't own an evening gown. He decided to buy something for her while he was in Paris. It wouldn't make up for everything he'd missed over the years, but it was a start.

When he got back to his office, he let himself in through a private entrance.  His secretary was talking quietly on the phone and, with a start, he realized she was reading Sydney's story aloud.

When he found her, she was bent over the balcony railing, staring out at empty streets and dreamless houses. Sullen and still, she refused to see him in the dark, and he turned on every lamp until the room shone bright behind her. Until the melancholy glow lit her like an angel on the road to hell. She was holding one fist over the edge, tilting it slowly, and he waited several seconds more before she turned to him at last. Her smile was painful, her eyes clear, and he watched her fingers loosen as the ashes fell.

"The end. It's beautiful, isn't it?"  There was a momentary silence.

"Yes, I am sure she's only fourteen. She'll be fifteen in April. The title?  Wait a minute.  It's called _Ashes_."  More silence.  "I've got to go back to work.  Someone is buzzing me. Talk to you later, honey."  He listened as she pressed the intercom button.  

"El?  Are you doing anything for lunch?  We have a group going to that new place on Caulder Avenue."

"I don't know.  I'm waiting for Jack to get back.  I have a couple of things I need to go over with him first."

"Oh.  I thought he was back.  I saw the limo drop him off a little while ago."  Jack slipped back out the side entrance and walked around to her office door.

"Oh, there you are!  I've finished everything on the Gandero case, with just a couple of exceptions." She smiled at him.

"Why don't you go on to lunch while look it over?"

"A few of us are going Swak's.  It just opened last week.  You want to go with us?"

"Thanks, but no. Sloane wants me to check out a company in Paris on Monday. I'm taking your advice. If you need me later, you can reach me at home."


	2. Chapter 2 Paris

Part 2 – Paris … Retrieving the Box

Jack arrived in Paris early Monday afternoon. He quickly located a famous couture shop and walked inside.  The outer room was coolly elegant.  A gentleman approached him and Jack quickly explained what he needed.  The man looked him over regretfully and motioned to one of the other ladies.  

He was seated in a private room, while several women modeled their most chic outfits.  After the fifth dress, he told the model to have the hostess return. "She's only fourteen. Do you something a little less…provocative?" he asked her when she arrived. 

"Fourteen, monsieur?" She gave him a disapproving look. 

"It's for my daughter. Her school is having an awards banquet."

"Your daughter?" she asked, still suspicious.  

"Do you want to see her baby pictures?" he countered.

"Ah, very well. I do need to see a photograph for her coloring."

He handed her the three photos he'd copied in anticipation of her request.  "She has the same coloring as my wife. That's her in the third picture."

 The hostess studied the pictures carefully.  "There is much of you in her, too.  Let me think a moment.  Yes. I have just the outfit." She turned to the model standing by the door.  "Number 47, please."

The model nodded and returned moments later.  The dress was a deep shade of mauve.  The bodice was beautifully designed with a crisscross pattern weaving intricately down the front. It fell softly from the models hips and down to the floor.  When she moved, the material shimmered.  It was exactly what he was looking for.  With the addition of matching shoes and purse, his daughter's outfit was complete. 

He gave the hostess Sydney's measurements and paid for his purchase.  He added a generous tip and left the store with a guarantee that the dress would arrive at his home by Friday morning.  He had intended to pick it up before he left on Wednesday morning, but was told there was no way the dress would be ready by then.  

Later that evening, he changed into dark clothes and scoped out the research facility he would be accessing the next evening.  He'd already studied the blueprints carefully, but had always found a visual surveillance to be more effective.  

The building was on the outskirts of Paris.  Thick clouds hid the moon and stars and there was a heaviness to the air that often signaled rain.  He found shelter in a grove of trees just outside the perimeter and quietly watched the activity through his night vision binoculars.  

Shortly after midnight, the first drops drifted down from the clouds. He put his notes containing the names of all the trucks making deliveries into his bag, he headed back to his hotel room. The phone book provided him with the necessary addresses on the delivery companies. He would wait until the next afternoon before he 'borrowed' one of their trucks. 

He stretched out on the bed and checked the time. It was a quarter past three in the morning.  Back in Los Angeles, it was still daylight and Sydney would just be getting home from school. He wanted to call her, but knew it was too dangerous.  If anything went wrong, they could trace him back to the hotel.  A phone call would needlessly put her life at risk.  

She had been furious when she found out he was being called away on another business trip.  She was still angry with him when he left late Sunday. He had gone home that Friday afternoon and waited for her to arrive from school.  She was surprised to see him and even more surprised when he told her where they were going out to dinner.  The evening had gone well.  Cautiously, she shared small bits and pieces about what was happening in school and with her friends.  He listened, happy to be making this small connection with her. It wasn't until the ride home that she realized he was holding something back.

_"But Dad, you told Mrs. Devon you would be there." She glared at him angrily._

_"And I will be there, Sydney. I'll only be gone for three days this time."_

_"That's what you always say.  Then your secretary calls me and tells me you've been delayed.  Never mind Dad.  I hadn't planned on going anyway."_

_"Sydney, I'll be there.  I promise or I will die trying."_

_"What good are your promises?  I don't care about the dumb award, anyway."  She turned her face from him and stared mutely out the window._

She continued her silence throughout the weekend, responding only when necessity required it.   Every overture on his part was an exercise in futility.  He could plan sophisticated and complicated missions, but couldn't come up with even one that would break through the stony barriers of his teenage daughter.

He took a shower and climbed back into bed, hoping to retrieve the data box quickly and be home before Sydney was out of school on Wednesday.  

The next day, the first part of the operation went off without a hitch.  Once in the facility, he disabled the security and placed the box in his backpack.  It wasn't until he started for the truck that security was alerted.  Several shots ricocheted around him and he felt a hot flame as one of the bullets found its mark.  Another round of shots were aimed at the truck and he heard a dull ping as a bullet punctured the gas tank.  He dived for cover just as the truck exploded. The flames brightened the area, making his getaway more difficult, but he managed to sprint undetected to the copse of trees he'd hidden in the night before.  

He did a quick check of his wounds and realized more than one bullet had lodged in his ribcage.  Pain washed over him.  He felt dizzy, but managed several small breaths to keep from passing out.  The search teams were heading in his direction.  There would be no time to rest.  He hoisted the backpack over his shoulder and walked quickly and quietly toward the city.  

Flagging down a taxi, he asked to be transported to the Opera district.  Once away from the cab, he boarded the Metro, exiting near the drop.  He found the bar ten minutes later, exchanging backpacks with his contact.  A wave of dizziness washed over him. He barely managed to give the contact an 'agent in trouble' code.  He walked two blocks before hailing another taxi.  Each breath brought an explosion of pain and he wasn't sure he would make it back to his hotel.  He considered having the taxi drop him close to the hotel, but his training was too ingrained. A taxi was far too easy to trace. Instead, he got out near a busy downtown Metro station.  

He walked for several blocks, before entering the Metro.  He went two stops past his exit and then walked the remaining blocks to his hotel.  Bypassing the lobby, he gained entrance through the service doors, before finally stumbling into his room.  

……………………………………………..

Irina surveyed the busy cafe before entering it.  Spotting her contact, she slipped into a booth opposite him.  He poured a cup of coffee for her and shoved a plate of French pastries across the table.

"You have news for me?"

"Sloane received and 'agent in trouble' transmission early this morning."

"Jack?" The muscles in her stomach knotted in fear. The contact nodded. "Sloane has sent in an extraction team?"

"No.  Bristow already made the drop. According to the reply, Sloane deemed retrieving him an unnecessary risk."

"That b*stard." Sparks flared from her eyes. "Where is he?"   

The contact raised his eyebrows. "Sloane?"

"I'll take care of him later.  Where is Jack?"

"There's a piece of paper under the plate.  That's where he checked in on Monday.  We have no information on his current location, but I'm sure you could start there."

She nodded.  "Thank you."

When he left, she slipped the paper from under the plate and headed to her car.  She gasped in surprise at the address.  They were staying at the same hotel.  Then she laughed.  It was not really that surprising. In their ten years of marriage, she had often been struck by how alike they thought.

She slipped into the laundry area and stole a passkey.  Unlocking his door, she breathed a sigh of relief.  The privacy lock blocked further access, which meant he was in the room.  She opened her bag and pulled out her pocketknife. With the ease of practice, she popped the metal prongs open.  

He was passed out on the bed, his breathing shallow and light.  There was slight sheen on his forehead and upper lip.  She went into the bathroom and soaked a towel with cold water.  Wiping the sweat from his face, she made a visual check of his body.  There appeared to be two bullet wounds in his chest and one that grazed his arm.  Carefully, she pulled his shirt off.  He stirred and mumbled incoherently for a moment before losing consciousness again.  The wounds were already puffing with infection.  He would need a surgeon for the bullets and antibiotics. She also needed to get him out of the room.  If she was able to find him so easily, so too would his enemies.  Her mind began formulating a plan.  

……………………………………………..

Four hours later, Jack was out of surgery. She had taken him to a Russian expatriate, who had helped her after her prison escape from India. He asked no questions when she knocked on his door. Once the surgery was completed, the doctor worried about his patient's blood loss, but felt the recovery would go well.  

"He is important to you, Ira?"

"My husband," she said simply.

He nodded. "You will need to keep him sedated at least until Friday.  He will be sore, that one, but he will be good as new before too long."

"Thank you." Irina hugged him gratefully.  

She drove away from the city, looking for a hotel that would provide a greater degree of privacy.  He rested quietly until the sedative started to wear off.  Several times he called for Sydney, then later and more urgently, for Laura.  Had he sensed her presence?  She couldn't be sure.  Pulling off to the side of the road, she stopped long enough to give him another dose.  Four hours later, she found a hotel suitable for her needs.  He was still sound asleep and it took all her considerable strength to move him from the car to the room.  

Searching his bag, she located a pair of pajamas and began stripping his clothing.  Her hands found the familiar planes of his body and gently caressed him.  She loved the feel of his skin against hers.  Her fingers had a will of their own, as they moved from shoulder to hip to groin.  Regretfully, she picked up the pajama bottoms and began dressing him for bed.  

Irina froze as he began to mutter. "Sydney, I promise.  I'll be there for Friday." He groaned in pain.  "Promise. Governor's award. So proud of you." 

She lifted one leg, then the other, listening carefully to his incoherent ramblings. By the time she snapped the button above the fly, she'd pieced together most of what he'd said.  Their daughter was receiving an award on Friday.  He'd ordered a dress ensemble for her, but had not yet ordered the flowers.  And he probably didn't even think of perfume, she thought.  He'd promised her to be home in time for the function.  She looked at her watch.  It was still Wednesday morning in California.  She would have to hustle to make all the necessary arrangements by Friday. She pulled a cell phone from her suitcase and made three calls. 

Sydney would need to be told about her father.  Calling the house was out of the question.  Sloane would have that number bugged. She called another of her operatives and he easily located the school's phone number.

She dialed the number and spoke in French accented English. "I'm calling long distance for Mademoiselle Sydney Bristow.  It's imperative that I contact her. Her father has been in an accident."  

"We can have her in the office in fifteen minutes.  Would you like to call back?"

"Very well." Her hand shook slightly, knowing she would soon be speaking with the daughter she hadn't seen in eight years.  While she waited, she checked on Jack, who began stirring restlessly in his sleep.

"It's okay, Jack.  Everything has been taken care of.  Sydney's flowers have been ordered.  I even ordered a tux for you.  I'm sorry, honey, but your old one won't do. And just in case, I checked your bank account to see if you could afford it.  I'm glad that b*stard Sloane is at least paying you well."

"Laura?" The sedative was wearing off again.  He needed to eat, so propped him up in the bed.  The soup she'd ordered from Room Service had grown cold, but she brought it over to him anyway.  "I had a bad dream.  You were dead."

"Shhh, honey.  It's okay.  See, here I am, alive and well." She placed the soup in his lap.  "But you are not well. I don't think you're strong enough yet to feed yourself, so I'm going to do it for you."  She spoon-fed him, watching the clock as she did.  Her fifteen minutes were rapidly ticking away.  When he was finished, she gave him another injection and settled him back under the covers.

"Love you," he told her softly.

"I love you too, Jack. With all my heart. Don't you ever forget that."  He sighed and was once more sound asleep.

She dialed the number once more and got the same receptionist.  "Mademoiselle Bristow, please."

"One moment."  The woman covered the mouthpiece and Irina strained to hear her muffled conversation.  "Sydney, it's the same person who called earlier." 

"Hello? Mrs. Herndon? My teacher said you were calling for my father. It's all right.  I knew he wouldn't make it back by Friday."

She pinched her nose to disguise her voice. "Mademoiselle Bristow, did they not tell you your father has been in an accident."

"Oh my god.  Is he…is he okay?"

Irina cursed silently.  She hadn't thought her excuse through clearly enough. Sydney was probably having flashbacks to the 'death' of her mother.

"Oh, god, he's dead.  Daddy…" She whimpered into the phone.  "It's my fault."

"No, he's not dead.  I apologize…" She couldn't think.  "He was injured in an accident and was concerned that you might worry.  His flight back has been changed to Friday.  He will be there in plenty of time for the banquet."

"Oh." Irina heard the relief in her daughter's voice. "Can I talk to him?"

"May I…" She coughed. Had she really started to correct her daughter's grammar? "He was awake when I called earlier.  They gave him a sedative a few minutes ago.  The pain…I'm sure you'll understand."

"Of course.  How bad…" Sydney's voice trailed off.

"His ribs will be very sore for a while and his right arm.  Since he's left handed, it shouldn't bother him too much." 

"Thank you for letting me know.  I always worry when he's away. Dad's secretary usually calls me. Are you new?"

"No. I am a nurse at the hospital," Irina lied. "I almost forgot. Your dress will be arriving Friday morning from Paris. They are also shipping a tuxedo for your father and another carton containing a bottle of perfume for you.  The limousine will arrive at you house promptly at five."

"Wow. Dad ordered all that stuff?"

"Yes. He, err, suffered a slight concussion, so he may forget some of it.  You may have to remind him about the tuxedo and the limo."  

"Okay.  Tell Daddy I love him and will see him on Friday." 

Irina clicked the off button. "Goodbye, sweetheart, I love you." she whispered softly to the phone.  Tears flowed quietly down her cheeks.  She made no attempt to stop them, allowing them full reign.  Her Sydney was on the verge of womanhood and she was missing it.  She watched as Jack stirred in his sleep. He'd always been a restless sleeper.  

She took a relaxing bath and changed into her nightgown.  With a happy sigh, she nestled next to her husband and fell soundly asleep for the first time in years.  

For two days she had Jack to herself.  And he was asleep most of the time.  In his more lucid moments, she could see the heat in his eyes.  She could feel the flame of his need and the fire of her own response.  She wanted him, longed for him, desired him.  It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to satisfy her needs, their needs.  On Thursday evening, she gave in. In celebration of their birthdays, she decided. 

"Jack, you've been seriously injured.  You'll need to lie still and let me…" her voice caught. "…let me love you."  He nodded and watched as she slowly undressed in front of him.  She slid over to the bed and tugged at his pajama bottoms.  Carefully, she pulled them down, sliding them until they were completely off.  She could see he was ready for her, ready as she was for him, but she made love to him slowly, being careful not to put too much stress on his injury.  Her body told him in every way, how much she loved him and when she was done, he fell asleep without the sedative.  

"Happy Birthday, Jack."


	3. Chapter 3 Los Angeles

Part 3 – Los Angeles … The Governor's Awards Banquet

Jack woke to the sound of the plane squealing for the landing.  He shifted in his seat and felt a sharp stab of pain in his ribcage. A small groan of pain escaped.

"Are you okay, Mister?"  The man sitting next to him gave him a worried look.  "You were out the whole flight. The stewardess said you'd been in a car accident in Paris."

"You should see the car," he joked.  He tried to remember how he got on the plane, but everything after he was shot blurred together in his brain.  Had Sloane extracted him?  Somehow that didn't feel right.  Someone had taken care of him.  He remembered soft gentle hands and dreams of Laura. How long had he been unconscious?  He grabbed the hand of the man next to him. 

"What day is it?" he asked frantically. Had he missed the banquet?

"Ow.  It's Friday. March 24th.  You can relax your grip now mister."

"Oh, sorry."  He would make it in time. Time.  "Sorry to bother you again, but what about the time?"

"The time? Oh.  It's one o'clock." He moved his hand behind his back and added, "In the afternoon."  

He nodded as the plane skidded to a halt.  The walk to customs was slow, as spasms of pain forced him to stop and rest along the way.  His car was parked in his garage at home, since Sloane had sent a car for him when he left.  He hoped someone would be waiting to take him home once he made it through customs.

A man in a limo driver's suit stood just outside the customs door exit. He bore a small sign with Bristow written in bold letters. Jack gratefully handed his bag over to him.  The driver talked non-stop on the trip home, regaling Jack with tales of the famous people he'd met as a limo driver.  Jack let him ramble as he rested against the seat.   

……………………………………………..

Sydney watched with concern as the limo pulled into the drive. The car was an hour earlier than the woman had said and her father still wasn't home.  She opened the door to tell the driver he was too early, but stopped in shock.  Her father was easing out of the back seat.  

"Daddy?" Sydney watched him, white faced.  "The lady said you were hurt…"

"I'm okay, Sydney." He frowned.  "The dress hasn't arrived?" 

"It came this morning, Dad.  It's the most beautiful dress…," she pursed her lips. "Mrs. Andrews told me to wait so I wouldn't get the dress all wrinkly."

He nodded and turned to tip the driver. He waved it off. "Already taken care of, sir. I'll be back in an hour to pick you up for the banquet."  

"The lady said you would forget about the limo.  She told me to remind you that it was all arranged."

"What lady, Sydney?" Jack asked, now curious.

"The one who called from Paris." Sydney giggled. "I think she must be an English teacher and a nurse. I said 'can I' instead of 'may I' and she started to correct me."

"She told you I'd been hurt?"

Sydney nodded.  "She said you didn't want me to worry and that everything was taken care of for the banquet."

He stared blankly at his daughter. Who had called?  And, more importantly, who had cared for him while he was hurt? Were they one and the same?

"Mr. Bristow? Here, let me take your suitcase for you.  You need to save your strength for tonight."  Mrs. Andrews picked up his bag and motioned him to follow.  "Your tuxedo arrived this morning.  Sydney's corsage is in the refrigerator, along with your boutonnière." 

"Thank you, Mrs. Andrews.  I think I can manage now."  He took the suitcase from her and slowly climbed the stairs.  When he got to his room, a brand new tux was laid out on the bed.  He didn't remember ordering the tuxedo or the flowers.  The flowers were on his to do list, but he'd planned to wear his old tux.  He'd sent it to the cleaners on his way to work the previous Friday.

He took a quick shower, removing the wet bandages after he finished.  The wounds had been neatly stitched together and appeared to be healing without infection.  He opened his suitcase and found two vials of medication.  One was labeled antibiotics and the other  a painkiller. A typewritten note told him when it was safe to take the next round of medication.  He tore the note into several pieces and flushed it down the toilet.  Whoever his guardian angel was, she didn't want to be found.  He owed his mysterious benefactor his life and protecting her was the least he could do.

He walked downstairs ten minutes later.  His daughter was waiting anxiously for him at the foot of the stairs. He caught his breath when she looked up.  Every day, her resemblance to her mother grew stronger. Looking every inch the young lady, Jack was reminded of another day, another time. Laura.  He shook away the memory.

"You look beautiful, Sydney."

She smiled happily.  He held out his arm and she placed her hand over his and giggled.  "I feel like a fairy princess."

"Shall we see if your pumpkin has arrived?" he teased softly.

She giggled again, her eyes dancing with excitement.  "Oh, Daddy."  

Mrs. Andrews bustled in from the kitchen.  "My but don't you look a pair!  You almost forgot the flowers." She opened the box and Jack drew in a sharp breath.  The corsage held three roses, with soft yellow petals tipped in pink. The roses were known by many names, but it was more widely known as the 'Peace Rose'.  

"Ohhh. We have these in our garden out back. They are beautiful, Dad." 

The doorbell rang.  "Time to go.  Have nice evening you two.  Give me a call tomorrow, Sydney and tell me everything." 

"Wait.  Before I forget." He pulled a strand of pearls out from his pocket.  "You need these to complete the dress."  Sydney turned and let her father clip the beads in place. 

"They're beautiful, Dad."

"They were your mothers. They are yours, now."

"Really? I'll treasure them forever."

Jack smiled sadly, knowing that sometimes forever was far too short. 

……………………………………………..

"Our final award is for outstanding short story.  The third place award goes to "A Day at the Beach" by Alissa Jones.  Congratulations, Alissa. Second place goes to "Can I Have a Lifesaver, Please?" by Nathalie Chow. Congratulations, Nathalie."

"And now, our first place award is for one of your own: Sydney Bristow for "Ashes".  Well done, young lady."

The audience clapped and whistled as she accepted her award.  Jack smiled happily, the pain in his chest momentarily forgotten.  

"Your daughter is very pretty.  There's a dance right after the banquet.  You won't mind if I dance with her, will you?"  Jack stiffened.  The man had been leering at his daughter all evening. He leaned over and whispered so that only the two of them could hear.  "If you touch one hair on my daughter's body, I will slam you up against a wall and choke every ounce of light out of you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Hey, no offense, man.  It's just a dance."  Jack gave him an icy stare.  The man shifted uncomfortably, before grabbing his date's arm.  "C'mon, honey, let's find a different table."

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time to dance.  For our first dance, we would like all you fathers out there to dance with your daughters and likewise for our mothers and sons."

"Okay, I'm ready to go now, Dad."

"We can't go yet, Sydney. You heard what the announcer said.  May I have this dance?"

"Dad," she hissed under her breath.  "We can't.  I don't know how."

"I'll teach you."

"Here? Now?"

"Yes.  Just follow my lead and you'll be fine. One dance and then we'll go."  

"Dad?" She had enjoyed her evening, sharing her moment with her father.  One dance wouldn't hurt. "Okay.  I'll try."

He showed her where to place her arms and slowly led her around the dance floor.  "Did I send the perfume, too?"

She nodded.  "You don't remember?"

He shook his head.  "Anais, Anais.  It was your mother's favorite."

"The roses, too?  That's why we have them in the garden, isn't it?"

"Yes, she always called them a piece of the sun edged in fire."  He smiled down at her.  "You look very like her tonight."

Sydney's eyes widened.  "Really?  But my mother was so beautiful."

"And so are you, sweetheart."

They danced in silence, then "Dad…" Sydney hesitated. "Why don't you ever talk about Mom?"

He looked at her, puzzled.  "I've always answered your questions."

"Yes, I know, but that's just it.  I always have to ask."  Her hand tightened on his.  "You never volunteer. Except tonight, when you told me about her perfume."

"Sydney, I wish I could give you back your mother.  I can't.  And talking about her…it hurts too much." He thought of his dreams in Paris. Eight years and the void in his heart was still as strong as the day she died. 

She nodded.  "That's what I thought." The music ended and they separated. "Let's go home." 

……………………………………………..

That night, as Jack fell asleep, he dreamed once more of Laura. He felt her lips on his, and heard her whisper softly, "Happy Birthday, Jack." 


End file.
